Sherlock's Surprise for John
by ampersandclown
Summary: The start of something the friends have been looking forward to for a long time. I may or may not finish it, or might use the beginning for a not-dirty story.


JOHNLOCK

The door slams shut.

'Sherlock! I'm home!' cried a voice from down the rickety stairs. 'I would have got the shopping that you wanted, but you texted me to come home. I've no idea; you really need to start telling me things…'

The short man trailed off and heaved himself up the last step and through the open door of the apartment he shared with the extraordinary man. John was wearing a warm and big coat, making him look far smaller than he already was. He sported a plain walking stick; he was not the sort of man for futile extravagances. His face was etched with lines, from worry and from his past experiences in war, and his light eyes shone. The contrast between his tired face and beautiful eyes was almost shocking.

The apartment they shared was, as some would say, cosy. In reality it was just a tiny place, and the only one they could afford together. They only managed to get that place to call home due to Sherlock's past businesses, but they still had to pay a fair amount. Boxes and piles of Sherlock's belongings littered the floor; most of these items were strange, and John barely understood why Sherlock had most of them. The wallpaper was old and flowery: the sort of people that used to live there were the same. As John made his way to the compact kitchen to grab a drink, he realised that his fairly new friend wasn't sitting in his usual place, which was a large velvet arm chair that he got from God-knows-where.

'Typical!' John mumbled to himself. He bustled around the apartment for a while, seemingly attempting to tidy up the mess that had become a part of their floor. He picked up a pile of bills and notices, but immediately put them back. They barely had enough money to feed themselves, let alone pay expensive things like those. If only Sherlock didn't ruin his last few part-time jobs!

The little man stripped down to his shirt, removing his coat and large woollen jumper. John lowered himself into an old chair to the left of Sherlock's plush throne and picked up, from a wicket coffee table that sat in the corner, a dejected newspaper from the previous day.

'Michael Gove seems like such a twat,' John remarked. He sighed deeply and began to lose himself in the creased newspaper, despite the fact that he had already read it...

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, John sat up quickly. He checked his watch. He had been asleep for a couple of hours; he had a bad habit of falling asleep reading these days. John cricked his neck and stood up. Sherlock's coat was on the back of his comfortable seat, but he wasn't in the room.

'Sherlock, stop being a knob,' John called out. 'You asked me to come here a few hours ago, but you weren't here. What's the deal with that?'

The limping man made his way to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. He grabbed a mug from one of the new shelves and made a cup of tea. Warming his hands on the mug, John made his way back to the small living room and went to sit down again. He saw that the door to the stairs leading up to his room was slightly ajar.

John stood staring at the door for a few minutes, taking long, slow sips of his hot beverage. After a couple more moments he decided to check whether Sherlock was in his room or just messing with him. John set his mug down on one of the mats he inherited from his parents, and gingerly fully opened the door leading upstairs.

His heart was racing, for no reason. He had been in danger plenty of times before, especially with a friend like Sherlock, but…

This was different; John was anticipating something that would surely never happen, not even in his wildest dreams.

The short man climbed the last few steps to his room, and swung the door open. He was unsure of whether Sherlock would be there, but GOD was he there!

At first John looked away from the figure on his bed, but he eventually looked back and stared for a while. Sherlock was lying on his bed. In a corset, garters, stockings, and heels. Dr. Frank N Furter style. And he did look sexy.

'Uh… Sherlock, what are you doing?' gasped John. He was surprised, but he, after all his fantasies about the brilliant man, was glad this was happening.

'I'm doing what you would want me to do, John,' Sherlock said in his silky voice. 'And besides, lingerie makes me feel goddamn sexy.'

Sherlock gently pushed himself up off of John's king sized bed and strutted over to the staring man. He grabbed John's already loosened tie and pulled him in for a kiss. The tall and slender man trailed his hand down John's face and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the well-built body of an ex-serviceman. Sherlock continued down John's bare chest and fiercely grabbed his bulge from outside of his trousers.

'God I've waited so long for this, dear Watson,' he whispered, more to himself than to John.


End file.
